


In These Most Dangerous Times

by Mouse9



Series: Always 1895 [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1895, Crossdressing, F/M, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 20:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: Day 6 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week- I've seen healthier people on the slab/ Just tell me when to coughSherlolly, but make it VictorianCW: blood, injuries, a twist on the aftermath of the Morgue Scene in TLD
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: Always 1895 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205948
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2021





	In These Most Dangerous Times

_What is the worst thing you can say to a person?_

Mary was gone. Not dead, just…gone. The stillbirth of she and John’s first child took a toll on the woman and little notice, she left to the country for recuperation. Watson blamed it on Holmes because the men had been out on a case at the time of delivery and he was not there to support his wife.

Conveniently forgetting that he would have done little save pace the hallways of their home awaiting the pronouncement of the doctor within. Hooper thought Watson was being unreasonable but saying such would have sent the doctor on an angry tirade, so she left it alone.

What it did do, however, was send Holmes on his own after a criminal that he said was the most dangerous he had encountered. A serial killer the likes of Bloody Jack himself.

Her job kept her busy, the trail of bodies that came to her Morgue from this person. First it was the Ripper and now this creature, if it wasn’t indeed the Ripper himself picking up where he’d left off years ago. Hooper barely had time to crawl home after work, some nights taking refuge in the makeshift cot she’d set up in her office, always careful to keep her identity secret and extra equipment available in case of emergencies. She even had young Wiggins stay on nights when they were both there late. She didn’t want to be responsible for the death of her assistant and the young girl was exactly the type this monster was going after.

Two weeks into the investigation, there was a knock at the door to her Morgue and a member of the Irregulars peeked in.

“Dr. Hooper, sir?”

From the fire, Wiggins wiped her hands on her apron. “Kit? What is it?”

The boy grinned a greeting at his previous commander and stepped in, holding up a note.

“I was told I was to give this to Dr. Hooper. Dr. Watson needs his help.”

Hooper frowned, wiping her own hands as she approached the boy. “Did he say with what?”

Kit handed her the note. “It’s Mr. Holmes sir.”

Opening the note, she scanned the letter, then looked at Wiggins. 

“We’re finished for the day. Kit, be a gentleman and escort Wiggins home, please?” Fishing out a crown for him, she dropped it into his hand. Shoving it into his pocket, he saluted her and waited beside the door for Wiggins to finish up. 

Taking her bag, Hooper was out the door before the boy had put his hat back on.

* * *

The address led her to an older surgery in the lower part of London, full of the poorest and dangerous people living on the streets. A stern matron opened the door at her knock, took a hard look at her and let her in.

“He’s in back.” She said before disappearing into the dimness of the building. Straightening her shoulders, she marched to the back of the building, avoiding broken furniture and rats. Watson stepped out of a room, face relaxing momentarily in relief when he spotted her.

“He’s got himself into a situation, we barely escaped with our lives.” He said as he let her into the room. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she couldn’t help the gasp that past her lips. Holmes was a mess. Laying on a filthy cot, he was a mess of bruising and blood. 

“What in the devil happened?” she hissed angerly. “I’ve seen healthier bodies on my slab in the past fortnight.”

“As I said, we barely escaped.” Watson picked up a lantern and walked with her to the cot. “Holmes tried to pick a fight with a prominent member of the community and was sorely tested.”

“Good Lord, man, it looks as if he was used as a punching bag.” She said, dropping her bag on the closest table. 

“Not his fault.” Holmes murmured, head turning to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot, almost fully red and one was swollen. His nose was full of dried blood and under the dim light, she could see the pooling of blood under the skin on his chest. Wincing at the injuries, she placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Holmes, don’t talk.” She looked back to Watson. “I know he has an addiction, but did you give him any heroin?”

“Of course not!” Watson bristled. “He’s trying to stop that practice.”

“I deserved it.” Holmes continued. “Let his child die.”

Hooper’s blood went cold. Dark eyes cold, she looked at Watson. 

“What is he saying?”

“I…”

“Oh, you’re here. Good. I think I’ve been injured.” He struggled to sit up and Molly whirled back around, a hand out to keep him down. Watson move to the other side, his hand out at well.

“Stay down Holmes.” He snapped and she saw it. The almost indecipherable flinch at both Watson’s tone and his hand. Her own fists clenched in anger. Shoving it down, she focused on Holmes. 

“You’ve done a fine job on yourself. You know I’ll have to check if you’ve injured anything.”

From the lamplight, his injured mouth grinned, showing blood on his teeth. “Just tell me when to cough.”

“For Godssake, Holmes!” Watson exclaimed. Hooper ignored them both, starting her examination. In other situations, she would’ve asked why Watson wasn’t taking care of the man himself. He was listed as Holmes’ personal physician and although Hooper was intimately aware of the entirety of the human body, inside and out, Watson was a fine enough physician to take care of something like this. 

However, right now, she didn’t want Watson touching one inch of Holmes’ body. Methodically, she went over every part of him, checking for injuries, maladies, misshapen bones. She was not a lady at this time, she was a doctor and as a doctor, she was required to treat the human body as an inanimate thing created for observation and diagnosis. Even if said body was of a man she greatly admired. Victorian sensibilities be hanged at this time.

“He cannot stay here.” She finally announced, moving to wash her hands in the nearest basin. “Holmes is suffering from broken rib bones, a bruised kidney, some sort of malady that deprived him oxygen to his brain. This is the absolute worst place he can convalesce. If he is in danger, then we shall take him somewhere else. If he needs a keeper, I will pack a bag and stay at Baker Street for the duration. 

“I cannot in good conscious allow that.” Watson said. Hooper meticulously dried her hands. “A young lady unescorted staying with a bachelor such as Holmes, the reputation would be-“

Hooper spun around and swung as hard as she could with her right fist. The swing connected with Watson’s jaw and his head snapped to the side, his balance wobbly as he stumbled backwards. 

“Bloody hell!” His hand went to his jaw and he turned and glared at her. 

“Go ahead,” she challenged, icily. “Hit me. I can promise you, I’ve taken a punch from bigger men than yourself. Take a swing as someone able to defend themselves, because I have a feeling Holmes was unable when you gave him that beating.” 

Watson’s face went pale and Hooper spat on the ground. “Only a coward would do what you did. What would your wife say, when she returns? If you’re angry, Dr. Watson be angry, but put your anger at the God who took your babe, not at Holmes who took a case. There was nothing that said you had go with him, especially so close to your wife’s confinement. There is nothing anyone could have done and you being there would not have made one iota of difference on the outcome.”

Her fists were up, stance balanced. 

“You are his friend, damnit, act like one and assist me getting him out of this rat trap.”

“I…” Watson stuttered, hand still on face. 

“I am a doctor. I am good enough to come in a seedy part of town to care for your friend but not good enough to help him convalesce? Personally, I don’t give a toss what you think of my reputation, Doctor, I only care that Holmes gets better so he can catch this madman because I am tired of seeing young women in my Morgue.”

Watson swallowed, then nodded slowly. “Forgive me. Of course. I will see if I can find a cab.”

She watched him leave the room hurriedly as if the sight of both Holmes and her made him nervous.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” A sleepy voice said behind her. She turned and went to his side.

“You’re running a fever. Do you trust yourself to take a little heroin?”

“No…” Licking his lips, Holmes tried again. “Perhaps when I am home. You shouldn’t have done that.” He repeated. “He didn’t mean it.”

“I’ve heard more women say the same thing regarding their husband's, I should not have to hear it from you when talking of your best friend.” She countered.

“He’s upset and I do not blame him. It is my fault.” He insisted, his voice slurred with pain and exhaustion. Molly rested a hand on his shoulder, looking over him worriedly. His color was off, paler than normal.

“Hush, rest.” She said. “Save your strength to assist us getting out of this place and you to safety.”

“You are too good to me Molly Hooper,” His voice was diminishing, his eyes closing. “I do not deserve you. I never deserved you.”

He fell off to silence, his strength sapped so he did not see the look of pain that briefly crossed Hooper’s face at his words.

“That is up to me to decide, Sherlock Holmes,” she said quietly, even as she heard the sound of a carriage approaching and the hurried steps of Watson returning. “You are more than deserving.”


End file.
